


Say Something (I'm giving up on you)

by anastasiapullingteeth, demonsonthemoon



Series: Oh Calamity [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Codependency, Depression, M/M, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiapullingteeth/pseuds/anastasiapullingteeth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsonthemoon/pseuds/demonsonthemoon
Summary: They promised each other that they would be okay. Promises are such fragile things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2014.
> 
> The song Jehan sings is "Oh, Calamity" by All Time Low.

The couch they’re on is old. A remnant of another time, of another life and other stories. That’s why Grantaire and Jehan love it so much. It feels like home.  
  
It’s the start of May, and a ray of sun caresses Jehan’s skin as he half-watches “Pretty Woman” on the TV screen. He shivers, changes the position of his head on Grantaire’s shoulder and tries to get more of his body in contact with the other man’s.  
  
He yearns for Grantaire’s arm around his waist, but knows better than to ask. Instead he laughs with Julia Roberts, and feels the sound echo through Grantaire’s ribcage. And suddenly he feels a bit warmer.  
  
*****  
  
Grantaire loves Jehan’s laugh; he loves the way his entire body shakes with it, the way his nose wrinkles and his eyes narrow, but he’s never told him. He doesn’t say a lot recently. He doesn’t say he couldn’t sleep last night again, or that he forgot to take his pills this morning. He doesn’t say his body aches for touching him, but is afraid he’ll defile him if he dares.  
  
Jehan’s head on his shoulder is close, so close he can feel his breath warm against his neck. And Grantaire closes his eyes, tries to remember that everything is fine, that Jehan’s still here with him. He opens them again when he feels Jehan’s hand enveloping his own; he didn’t notice they were trembling.  
  
*****  
  
Jehan only moves once the credits start. He lets go of Grantaire’s hand and misses it immediately. Someone has to turn the TV off, though.  
  
Grantaire looks tired. He looks so tired, and Jehan would like to point it out, but he’s afraid. He’s never had that feeling before, and he wonders why, why now, what is making him feel that way.  
In a sense, he’s like Grantaire. He feels tired too. Tired and empty, he fails not to think.  
  
He smiles though, and Grantaire smiles back, and they’re going to be okay. Jehan promised they would be okay. He knew it would be hard, and it’s hard, but he promised.  
  
"Want something to drink?”, he asks, not leaving enough time for the silence to settle. Too much silence is scary, but Jehan isn’t sure if his voice is enough to fill it.  
  
*****  
  
Whisky, Grantaire thinks, or maybe tequila, anything that burns down his throat and takes the pain away, but he knows he can’t ask for that so he says “Tea’s fine”. His voice’s hoarse, but Jehan smiles anyway.  
  
Grantaire sits there, alone in the living room for an eternity, feeling completely numb and clenching his fists tightly, suddenly searching for something to hold on to. He’s drowning and no one’s there to help him, he’s drowning, he’s-  
  
Jehan’s singing. He can hear him in the kitchen and Grantaire remembers how to breathe. He gets up and walks to the door, looking from afar. He’s his anchor, what keeps him grounded when everything around him goes in terrifying motion. Before he can do or say anything, Jehan’s turning around, meeting his eyes.  
  
*****  
  
“Oh, it’s such a shame that we play strangers,” Jehan continues to sing. He does not know how to decipher the look in Grantaire’s eyes. He thinks that hope and wonder might be swimming in the light blue of this gaze, but fears that he himself is too hopeful. “No act to change what we’ve become.”  
  
He holds the mug he had just pulled out of the cupboard in both his hands and keeps on singing, even though he can feel his control slipping away and tears starting to fill his eyes.  This song is too fitting, it hits too close to home, but he  can’t stop. “Damn, it’s such a shame that we built a wreck out of me.” He has to look down, away from the stillness of Grantaire’s body. “Oh, Calamity…”  
  
This is it, the feeling that had been building in Jehan for so long, silent and cunning, finally being revealed. The fear - that he can’t do it anymore, that it’s getting too hard, that things are starting to fade away - is coming out of his mouth, a prayer disguised in borrowed words.  
  
Jehan looks up to whisper the last words of the song, his voice breaking on the notes. “Come back to me.”  
  
*****  
  
The words hit Grantaire hard like a blaze, and he has to surround the door frame with his trembling fingers to remain standing. He can’t stop looking at Jehan, his eyes darkened by the tears, fighting back the feelings telling him to reach out and hold him. He’s never seen him like this, so wrecked and desperate, and can’t help but remember.  
  
He remembers other times, when the sadness was bearable and the alcohol was enough to make him feel better. When he could go out and enjoy the company of his friends. When he kissed Jehan outside the Musain, laughing and sparing glances at the door. He remembers when he moved to his apartment, an enormous bag under the arm and his first pot of lavender flowers. He looked so happy back then, and Grantaire has ruined it.  
  
He bows his head, finally breaking eye contact with Jehan. The silence is heavy between them and it’s a scenario they both are now used to. Grantaire sees Jehan’s feet moving away and he finally gives in, taking his arm so quickly that he himself is surprised he’s done it. Still, he can’t look up just yet.  
  
*****  
  
Jehan drops his mug in surprise when Grantaire reaches for his arm, and it shatters on the ground. They stay silent, and Jehan doesn’t move. He does not dare to move and risk breaking something else, risk breaking the fragile bridge between them that Grantaire’s hand represents.  
  
He has to swallow back a new set of tears and sees his hand trembling when he wipes his eyes dry. And still Grantaire is silent.  
  
Jehan could talk. He could talk and talk and talk, and fill the silence between them. He has so many things to say. (I love you. I love you. I love you.) But he doesn’t.  
  
He looks at Grantaire’s hand on his arm, and tries to find an excuse, to tell himself that it’s for Grantaire, that it’s Grantaire who needs to break the silence. Inside himself, he knows he’s just being selfish. He wants Grantaire to acknowledge him in the most petty way, by telling him that he needs him.  
  
“Say something,” Grantaire whispers.  
  
Jehan smiles sadly. “Haven’t I said enough?” Grantaire looks up and Jehan has to bite his lip and close his eyes because the other man looks lost. Every part of his instinct is telling Jehan to take him in his arms and comfort him but he can’t.  
  
Jehan thought that they were okay. That they were going to be okay. He promised. Why aren’t they okay now? Why does it feel like his promise is as broken as the cup on the ground?  
  
*****  
  
Grantaire lets go of Jehan’s arm. This is not okay, he needs to get out of here, needs to run, run away until he can’t run anymore. He’s given up on him. Jehan has finally given up on him and he has nothing left. Grantaire swallows the lump in his throat, bites his lips and tries to talk, but the words don’t come out.  
  
He loves Jehan, he really does, but saying it right now will only make him feel guilty, like he has to stay with him because this pathetic loser loves him. He’s selfish, he could say it, three words he’s been dying to say and Jehan would stay another day, maybe another month if he’s lucky. But he’s hurt him enough. He doesn’t want his pity, and Jehan probably already made a decision.  
  
He tries again and the words on his lips taste like poison. “Go, then.” he says. “There’s nothing else you can do.”  
  
*****  
  
It’s not the cup. It’s not a promise.  
  
It’s the whole world that’s shattering around Jehan. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing but his hand is on the door and he waits for Grantaire to stop him again, but he doesn’t.  
  
The metal of the handle is cold, like everything around him, but Jehan opens the door anyway. He opens the door and Grantaire is so close to him, and the world is cold but Grantaire is warm and…  
  
He can’t do it.  
  
He lets go of the handle and slams the door shut. They both jump at the sudden noise. He’s crying again, he can feel it, but this he knows. He’s used to it. He sits down against the door and drops his head to his knees, not looking at Grantaire.  
  
“The worst thing about this is that I know how it goes,” He speaks with eyes closed, because that way he can pretend Grantaire is behind him, on the other side, he can pretend that the other man doesn’t hear him and let the words fall out of his mouth. “I’m used to it, but it still hurts so much every time. And it keeps happening, and I can’t change it. I can’t change you, and I don’t want to change you, but I want to change this and I don’t know how.” He’s too far gone to stop now, doesn’t even realise what he’s saying. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried, and I don’t know what’s good and what’s bad and how to go on and this feels like giving up. I feel like I’m giving up and it scares me to death because I don’t want to give you up, if there is one thing I don’t want to give up it’s you.”  
  
He is taken by a series of sobs and cannot say anything for a while. “I can’t stay here and feel you drift away, because I’m so close but I feel like I can’t reach you. And I can’t go away, because you wouldn’t be able to reach me and that is somehow even worse. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t, and it’s true what they say about the road to hell being paved with good intentions.” He takes a breath and looks up. “And I’m so senselessly happy with you, but right now I’m senselessly sad, and for the first time in forever, I have no idea how to fix it.”  
  
*****  
  
Grantaire suppresses a gasp when he sees the other man’s face. He doesn’t know what to do or say; Jehan’s falling apart before him and he’s unable to comfort him. A single tear falls down his cheek and Grantaire closes his eyes, trying to burn Jehan’s words in his brain. They both are trapped in this prison Grantaire built even before they met.  
  
He sits on the floor, mere inches apart from the poet, his right hand covering his eyes and the other clenching tight on the fabric of his ripped jeans. He’s crying openly now, because this shouldn’t be happening, he was supposed to be better by now. But he’s not and that can only mean one thing.  
  
There’s a reason why Grantaire never says much; his words always hurt someone in a way or another. He’s stupid and reckless and insensitive, and has never managed to put into words what he really feels. No one had cared before, either. Not until Jehan. That’s why he hates what he says next, but he’s tired of trying, he’s tired of failing over and over again. He’s sure he won’t survive seeing Jehan this broken another time. With a last painful sigh, he says:  
  
“Maybe there’s no way to fix it… Maybe it’s too late for- for me… For us.”  
  
*****  
  
Jehan stands up slowly, but has to lean on the door to keep upright. He points an accusatory finger at Grantaire.  
  
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say that.”  
  
Grantaire shrugs. “You said it yourself.”  
  
Jehan laughs. It’s a broken and hollow sound, but comforting in a way. Human nature is thus made that even in the darkest moments, you will still be able to laugh.  
  
“I said it. That’s true. That’s definitely true, because that’s what I do!” He nearly shoutz the last words, then runs a hand through his long hair to calm himself down. “That’s what I do, Grantaire. I say things. I said that we would be okay, yet here we are. I said that I was giving up, but I closed the goddamn door again because I can’t.”  
  
He sits down on the floor once more, but this time right next to Grantaire. Praying that the other man doesn’t flinch or get away, he carefully lays his head on Grantaire’s shoulder.  
  
“I don’t know what to do.”  
  
*****  
  
Grantaire closes his eyes; he doesn’t know either. He wants to disappear, to stop existing. He’s just another waste of space, not worth anyone’s time. But Jehan’s still here. For some unknown reason, Jehan’s still here. And he loves him, with all his flaws and imperfections, he loves him.  
  
Grantaire’s entire body hurts. Physical pain in his arms and legs and chest. He can’t do this anymore, he wants to give up, he did give up, and just can think of doing it again. Jehan shouldn’t love him, no one should, and he needs to find a way to make him see, to free him from this burden. He has to disappear.  
  
Jehan’s head is on his shoulder and he feels warm. “I wish you would say something,” the poet whispers, more to himself than Grantaire.  
  
And there’s only one thing Grantaire can say, because if this is really the end, he might not have another chance. “I love you,” he breathes, and suddenly the world stops.  
  
*****  
  
Jehan bites his lower lip, hard enough for it to draw blood. He can’t help himself, it’s the only way he has to restrain the warmth slowly filling his throat and lungs. This is the worst of times. This is the absolute worst of times, and yet here they are, both of them.  
  
“Why now?” He asks, not in a accusing way, but curiously. The other man doesn’t answer. “We’re such fools,” Jehan adds with a bitter chuckle. He can feel Grantaire, impossibly immobile beside him. He shifts to put an arm behind him, his head still on his shoulder, dark curls tickling his closed eyelids.  
  
They breathe together for a moment, the silence soothing the open wounds they bear all over their souls.  
  
“Jehan-“  
  
“I love you,” Jehan interrupts.  
  
“You shouldn’t.” Grantaire immediately responds.  
  
Jehan reaches for his hand with the one he had behind him. He’s glad when Grantaire tangles his fingers with his own. “I know. But I can’t help it. I tried to stop, and look where it got us.”  
  
He presses harder on Grantaire’s hand, encircling him in a half-hug. “We fucked up,” he continues. “And we’ll fuck up again. Can’t we still try?”  
  
*****  
  
Grantaire, on an impulse, rests his head on Jehan’s. He missed this: the gentle touch of his hand, the closeness of his body, the warm feeling that spreads inside him every time they’re together (even on the bad days).  
  
There’s something wrong in all this. He shouldn’t be so wishful to keep Jehan by his side, no when he knows how much he can hurt him, how toxic and destructive he can be. They’re going fuck things up again, he said it, and it’s going to be disastrous and painful and it will end really badly. Because that’s how Grantaire does everything.  
  
Knowing all this, he still manages to squeeze Jehan’s hand softly and whispers “I don’t want to lose you.”  
  
*****  
  
Jehan smiles. The merry-go-round is turning again, and he’s climbing back on it, despite his motion sickness. Its lights are just that pretty.  
  
He doesn’t linger on those thoughts, doesn’t contemplate the fact that their relationship is verging on codependency. He rubs his fingers on the inside of Grantaire’s wrist and feels the other man’s shiver run through both their bodies.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers. “We’ll have to talk about things, find a way to do better.” He untangles his fingers from Grantaire’s, putting his freed hand on his knee and kneeling in front of him. “But right now, I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
*****  
  
Grantaire smiles back for the first time. It’s sad and empty, but the first one in months; it’s a start. He reaches out to wipe a stray tear from Jehan’s eyes and carefully, as if he feared he could hurt the poet just by touching him, puts a hand on the nape of his partner’s neck.  
  
His partner. Now the word has a new meaning for Grantaire. They can do this, they can try once again. It’s worth it, just to have this gentle soul, this flower boy with him.  
  
He pulls Jehan forward until they’re just a few inches from one another, and rests his forehead against his. “I’m sorry”, he says with closed eyes, and gently kisses the other man’s nose. They look at each other’s eyes, promises reflected in the touch of their hands. And Grantaire kisses Jehan, like he should have done long ago.  
  
“I love you”, Jehan whispers.  
  
“I love you.” It’s the only answer from Grantaire that matters now.


End file.
